She thinks he might like her, but she also is pretty sure he never lets anyone know what he’s really thinking so she can’t be sure what’s going on in his head. She wants him to believe that he deserves better, but she also is pretty sure he never will or has no interest in thinking about “better” in any aspect. Sometimes she wonders what would happen if they just intentionally went out for drinks instead of accidentally running into each other on a weeknight. But she also is absolutely not going to put herself out there and run the risk of finding out what happens if he decides to be really honest for a change. And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.
There’s clearly something there, and it’s painfully evident that neither of them thinks of the other as “just friends.” She talks about him at least once a day, he looks at her even when someone else is talking. They both have a warped sense of humor and they’ve said, “Nobody seems to get me like you do,” to the other, even in passing. She insists she feels nothing, no one believes her. No one’s asked him, because they don’t have to since it’s written all over his face in those moments when he thinks everyone is paying attention to someone else. Once she thought about it honestly, and she denies it to this day. And once he thought about telling her, but he decided to keep things “the way they are right now.” And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.
If there was such a thing as “love at first sight” there would be a photo of them on their first day at work next to the definition. He always knew she was the one he wanted. And even when she wasn’t sure, she was pretty certain that he’d still be waiting. But the thing about timing is it doesn’t always care about what one person wants. Even when she’s waiting, and he’s so, so, certain. And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.
He loved her more than she loved him. This isn’t to say that she didn’t love him, but it wasn’t ever even. She was the 40 in the 60/40 split. She was the one who would move on, who wouldn’t think about texting at 3 AM just because she was lonely. She was the one who ultimately ended up leaving. The one who inevitably decided to call it quits. But even after she put months between them and miles and space and distance, her heart was still soft when she thought about the way he says her name and the way his mouth moves when he sleeps. And being soft isn’t bad, it’s something she needs to remember is perfectly okay. And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.
Her hair smells like lavender, and for some reason she insists on showering at night even though it means the pillows are damp. She listens to the same song over and over and over and over until she’s sick of it, even when she’s told how irritating it is to hear the same Demi Lovato song for the umpteenth time on a Friday night. She’s prone to kissing her face in split seconds, and longer outside of side doors from bars they were never supposed to use. The first time she ended up in her bed, she stayed awake until 6 AM even though she was exhausted asking questions like, “Where do you think we go when we day dream?” And she makes her think about things like forever, the time space continuum, or just drinking beers in silence in Brooklyn and not having to fill the space just because. And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.
There are 808 miles between them, and 809 reasons why it’s pointless to think about the two of them being a “them” at all. But for some reason they find time to close the distance, and find time to ignore all of the reasons why they’re pointless. And that’s something. Maybe. Maybe not. But maybe. And maybe they should be together, or at least give together a shot. But that’s probably not going to happen.